


Stuck in the Middle with You

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All I wanted to do was return a library book.  For you, I might add.  That's it.  Hand in the book, leave.  That was my plan for the day.  Instead I'm stuck in some disgustingly smelly version of <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in the Middle with You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "labyrinth"
> 
> * * *

Matt's heard all the stories about New York's abandoned subway lines and sewage tunnels. Miles and miles of track laid under the city and then sealed up and forgotten, supposedly home to a ragtag group of tunnel dwellers called "mole people". He'd speculated online about government bio-warfare experimentation in underground super-labs or wondered if New York's subterranean world was the actual location of Area 51, because no one actually _forgets_ about hundreds of miles of tunnels, especially not the U.S. government. 

He really never expected to actually be walking through them, though.

Matt grimaces when foul water seeps over the tops of his sneakers, tries to ignore both the stench and the squelching, sucking sound every time he moves. The dank walls of the sewer seem to press on him from all sides, and even though he's never been even remotely claustrophobic and generally considers the sun to be akin to an evil god trying to suck out his life-force, he'd really _really_ like to get outside. 

Now would be good.

"Why me?" he mutters.

The emergency lights are few and far between, but Matt can see John glance over his shoulder. "What's this got to do with you?"

"Exactly! That is exactly my point, John," Matt says. "All I wanted to do was return a library book. For you, I might add. That's it. Hand in the book, leave. That was my plan for the day. Instead I'm stuck in some disgustingly smelly version of _Beauty and the Beast_."

"Lemme guess," John says. "You're the beauty."

"Well, you sure as hell aren't Ron Perlman," Matt answers. He ducks when the ceiling slopes abruptly downward, jerks and nearly hits his head when something brushes against his bare arm. And even though he knows it's probably just a cobweb – or hell, maybe a cockroach, but he shared his first place in Jersey with roaches who made themselves so much at home that they practically put their feet up on the coffee table – he still jumps and flails and slaps at his arm and only realizes he's letting out a high-pitched keening noise when John turns to look at him. 

By luck John's almost directly underneath one of the dull yellow lights, so he has no problem making out John's patented single eyebrow raise. "You okay there, kid?"

"Peachy," Matt bites out. He can't help giving one last feeble swat at his arm before he sloshes up to John, waiting for him at a branch in the line. He squints, but each arm of the tunnel looks equally unpromising. "You know how sometimes you get those bad ideas, John?"

"This isn't a bad idea."

"We're lost, and—"

"And even if it was a bad idea," John interrupts, "my bad ideas usually work out for the best. That's how I got you, remember."

"Hah," Matt says. "Yeah. Well, it's that _usually_ that scares me, John." 

"Just stay close."

He'd swear that John takes the left fork completely at random, except that would mean that they really are lost, and that would mean that they could be stuck down here forever. Sure, that one woman in the floral dress did see them duck into the access tunnel right after the shit hit the fan. But she was panicking, covered in fine grey ash, shell-shocked. He'd bet good money that she could barely remember her own name, never mind pointing out to anyone in authority that she saw a very determined bald dude with a big gun and a scared-looking punk actually start chasing the bad guys. 

This was so a bad idea.

A splash from up ahead makes him freeze, one hand instinctively clutching at the slime-covered wall. He focuses on John's broad shoulders, on the stiff line of his back as John hesitates, head cocked as he listens for more noise up ahead. After a long moment John starts moving again, a little slower this time. Just a tad more cautious. It takes a second, but Matt finally gets his feet to follow. 

And then he can't stop thinking about that splash.

"Do you think there's rats down here?" Matt asks when the silence has stretched on and on and he feels like he's going to blow out an eardrum or something from listening so hard. He snorts before John can answer. "Of course there's rats down here. It's the subway. There's … John? I heard that there are rats the size of cocker spaniel puppies down here. I'm not saying they're mutants or anything, that's just the natural size that they grow in the sewers."

"Calm down, kid."

"I'm calm. I'm totally calm. I'm not thinking at all about how we could get attacked any minute by puppy-sized rodents with curved canines the size of elephant tusks. Not thinking about that even a little bit."

"If we're gonna get attacked by anyone, it'll be the sons of bitches who set off that bomb," John grits out.

"Okay, not making it better, John."

When John just grunts, Matt edges a little closer and tries to concentrate on his footsteps. If he can step carefully and quietly through the sludge – and God, he doesn't even want to think about exactly what he's walking through or he'll have to vomit for three hours – then nothing will come to investigate him. Nothing like roaches or industrial sized rats or…

"I know those stories about mutant alligators are just hoaxes," Matt says. "But snakes? Pretty sure there's actually snakes in the sewer system. How many times do you hear about some old dude in Queens that goes into his bathroom to take a shit and lifts the lid on a goddamn anaconda? Those stories are in the papers all the time, at least once a year—"

"Tryin' to listen here, kid."

"For snakes?" Matt asks. He winces at the half-octave that his voice raises when he's starting to freak out, bites at his bottom lip. "Because maybe not anacondas, fine, but there could be boas, people really do buy those at a pet store and then—"

When John suddenly whirls toward him, Matt jerks back, eyes frantically searching the darkness at John's back. He doesn't see anything – no snakes or ROUS's, not even one of the dudes in desert camouflage who they saw sneaking down through the manhole and stupidly decided to follow, because John McClane and Bad Ideas go hand in hand. He's still rapidly backpedaling through the muck when John slams into him. His hands fly up instinctively to clutch at John's shoulders, and he prepares to duck from whatever is about to slam into them / fly over them / explode around them. 

Instead, John kisses him.

At first Matt's only aware that the slime from the wall is very slowly seeping beneath the collar of his T-shirt and trickling down his spine. But John is very good – exceedingly good, in fact – at the whole kissing thing. After a moment he really doesn't care about the slime. Or the bugs and rats. Not even about the thieves who could quite possibly be sneaking up on them at this very moment. Matt would actually rate John as exceptional at the kissing thing. Even if this doesn't seem like quite the optimum moment for it.

When John pulls away, Matt cocks an eyebrow. "Really, John?"

John just smirks at him. "It works at home."

Matt sighs and leans against the brick, makes a deliberate effort to lower his voice. "Sorry."

John leans forward to close the distance between them again, and this time the kiss is soft and light, a barely-there brush of lips. It still makes Matt's toes tingle and his stomach do a weird flip-flop that has something to do with the feeling behind the kiss and something to do with the suddenly remembered fact that they are actually tracking terrorists who blew up a city library for reasons unknown. And who may want to kill them. And that this could be the last kiss he ever gets from the man he loves more than anyone else in the whole goddamn world.

"Apology accepted," John says when they part. "Just keep it down. And stop worrying. I've got you."

Matt nods, and after a moment John steps away, takes the lead again. Matt follows in his footsteps, still stepping carefully, eyes darting everywhere as he tries to take in everything at once. When he spots a twisted piece of rebar propped against the wall, he diverts from John's path to snatch it up, test its heft with a couple of practice swings before hurrying to catch up. 

Yeah, they're stuck in a twisting maze of nauseating underground tunnels. Sure, they're surrounded by creepy crawlies. Yup, bad guys up ahead, and they're not going to be pleased to find out they've been tracked.

But he's got John McClane.

Maybe this whole thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.


End file.
